Rooftop
by ijustwanttobeabritishman
Summary: "John!" Sherlock cries, tearing up the metal stairs. Clankclankclank. "John! JOHN!" He throws the doors open, sprinting onto the roof of St. Bart's, where John is standing on the edge, eyes closed, arms spread open. "JOHN, NO!"


**[A/N] Set after John faints when Sherlock returns. Also, SLASH. SLASHYSLASHYSLASH. If this is not your thing AVERT YOUR EYEESSSS**

**Also, a word of warning to Batman, Iron Man, and Alice (my friends in this magical world called the internet and also oh yes life): THIS IS NOT ANYTHING YOU WOULD LIKE. PLEASE GO AWAY. I know that only makes you want to read more, but… honestly, I don't think you'll like this. Especially you, Iron Man. Especially you.**

"John!" Sherlock cries, tearing up the metal stairs. _Clankclankclank._ "John! JOHN!" He throws the doors open, sprinting onto the roof of St. Bart's, where John is standing on the edge, eyes closed, arms spread open. "JOHN, NO!"

John whirls around, staring incredulously at Sherlock, disbelieving. "Sh… Shrll…" he whispers.

"John, step down from that ledge," Sherlock says, holding out a hand as he walks forward.

John stares at him, swaying on the spot but not moving an inch.

"Sher… Sherlock…" he says, beginning to shake.

"Yes, John. It's me," Sherlock says, reaching his hand out further and stepping towards John, slightly faster.

John blinks, and Sherlock walks up to him until their faces are an inch apart. John gives a low noise that could have been a sob, before his eyes roll back and he leans backward, passed out, over the side of the building.

"NO!" Sherlock yells, grabbing John's arm desperately. John hangs limp in the air. "John! Wake up!" He musters his strength and pulls out a small pistol, firing one, two, three shots into the air. Lestrade should be here soon.

He pulls as hard as he can on John's arm, trying desperately not to let the man fall.

oOoOo

John opens his eyes blearily. "Mmmng… Wh-wha' happened?" he mumbles.

"You… fainted and fell off a building," comes a voice- _that voice,_ belonging to a man who is _dead,_ and not is suddenly _not dead._

"Sherlk?" John slurs, blinking The face of Sherlock Holmes swims into view. "Sh-Sherlock!"

Sherlock smiles. "Missed me?"

John shakes, staring into Sherlock's eyes- _what colors would they show him today? Green? Blue? Grey?-_he inadvertently leans upwards off the couch- in 221B, lying on a couch. Why has he not noticed this before?-, never taking his eyes away from Sherlock's/

And then the tears begin to fall. John clasps two arms around Sherlock, burying his face into the detective's neck, sobbing uncontrollably. He feels two arms slowly wrap around him.

"S… Sorry," he says, pulling away and cursing the blush that was no doubt spreading to his ears.

"No, it's-" Sherlock begins, turning his head and accidentally brushing his nose with John's- "…fine."

There is a small pause in which they both stare at each other. Then John cups Sherlock's face with his hands and gently presses their lips together. Sherlock lets out a small moan, leaning closer to John and wrapping his arms around him. John slides his tongue across Sherlock's lips, asking invitation, and Sherlock grants it, opening his mouth to allow John's tongue to slide in, mapping the crevices and savoring the taste that is so purely _Sherlock._ John moans, stroking his thumbs across Sherlock's cheeks, caressing him gently. Sherlock give a small _hummm_ of approval, sliding a hand under John's jumper, stroking John's back lovingly.

"Sherlock," John breathes as they pull apart.

"Mmm, yes, love?" Sherlock replies, threading his other hand in John's hair.

"I need to know this won't be just another experiment," John says, and the look on his face says nothing but _Please let this be real, please please please._

"It won't be," Sherlock assures him.

"No, Sherlock, I need you to swear to me," John says, looking Sherlock straight in the eye. "Swear, this is real."

Sherlock captures John's lips in another kiss, delving his own tongue into John's mouth, savoring the flavor. "I swear to you, John Watson," he says, pressing his forehead to John's. "I love you. I… John, I love you. I'll never leave you again."

John feels a tear slip down his face. "I love you, Sherlock," he whispers, pressing their lips together for another kiss; this one is slow, deep, and steady. He swirls Sherlock's tongue with his in a lazy circle, tasting and craving the unique flavor.

_Oh, yes ,Sherlock,_ John thinks. _Yesyesyesyesyes…_ John lets a low moan slip, pulling Sherlock closer by the blue scarf hanging from his neck. Sherlock smiles against John's lips and lets himself fall down onto the couch, so that he's lying over John.

"I've wanted this for so long," Sherlock murmurs, running a hand up John's chest.

"Why didn't you-_nngh - _why didn't you _say _anything?" John asks, threading his finger in Sherlock's hair.

"Didn't think you-_oh!_-felt the same," Sherlock replies, sliding his hands up and down John's chest, under his jumper. John moans into Sherlock's mouth, and Sherlock snakes his hands around John's waist. John shivers, sharing a shaky breath with the detective.

Sherlock gives a low chuckle that sends blood speeding out of John's head into much lower areas because _oh god that voice is sexy._

Sherlock sends one hand up to the back of John's neck, pressing them closer together, and another slides down, toying with the waistband of his trousers. John's breath hitches. Sherlock moves his mouth downwards and begins sucking on the bulge of John's adam's apple. John groans, tilting his head back to give Sherlock more canvas for that _remarkable _tongue.

"John," Sherlock whispers in his ear. "John, I love you. You must understand this." John crashes their lips together, holding Sherlock's head steady with his hands.

"I know, Sherlock. I know," he says softly.

"I'll never leave you again," Sherlock whispers, fainter this time. John pauses, looking worriedly at the man in front of him. Sherlock is crying now. "Never… leave…"

"_Goodbye, John."_

"_SHERLOCK!"_

John yells, his arm flying as he sits up wildly in his bed. He stares around in the absolute darkness for a moment before reaching for the light by his bedside table. His fingers reach the small knob, but he refrains from turning it.

If he can't see, he can imagine Sherlock's still here, beside him.

oOoOo

_Somewhere, in Slovakia…_

Sherlock opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling of the dingy hotel, trying to recall the exact images of the dream.

_John, standing on the rooftop of St. Bart's. Sherlock, yelling at him to stop. John, fainting and falling off the edge. Sherlock, holding onto him. Sherlock, firing one, two, three shots into the air to summon Lestrade. Lestrade, helping Sherlock haul John onto the roof. John, waking up at 221B. John, kissing him. Sherlock, telling John he loves him. John, telling Sherlock he loves him. John, threading his fingers into Sherlock's hair, pulling him closer, John, John, John, JohnJohnJohnJohnJohn-_

He blinks once, letting a tear fall, and returns to reality, the remnants of the dream slipping away like water through his fingers.

**[A/N] BAWWWWWW**

**I was originally going to go a bit more *ahem* graphic, but quickly found that my writing skills significantly lack that much talent. So I settled for angsty instead. Have fun. **


End file.
